


Hypothermia

by Splotcher



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Faked kidnappings, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splotcher/pseuds/Splotcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Face attempt to save their half-frozen team mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothermia

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompt: I am stuck in chilly Scotland, considering becoming surgically attached to the heater, and it struck me that as far as I know, there hasn't yet been any hypothermia cliche fic yet on the meme? I think that if I am right, this needs to be rectified, so can I prompt some freezing fic, please, with (preferably naked) cuddling for warmth and snuggling and general adorableness and hurt/comfort? H/F is my favourite pairing, but any combo of the foursome shivering and huddling would be lovely! 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticisms are well received by me. Flames not so much, but the boys would probably enjoy it right now.
> 
> \--Splotch

“T-Take a cruise, you said…”

“I-in m-my defense…I told you we were going arctic.” Hannibal grumbled as he shifted close to the ice cold body beside him. The body was not shivering. He rubbed his hands across the unmoving ice cold skin, doing everything he could despite the rapidly cooling temperature in the cabin to provide heat. Face was doing the same on the other side, scrunched as close as possible under the heavy blankets to the unconscious man.

Murdock didn’t stir.

The mission had been going so well. Hijackers in Alaska boggled his mind, but the clients could actually pay and he had reasoned that Face needed to expand his range of climates. And it was almost entirely by boat, which had pleased Bosco to no end. Murdock had been upset at the lack of air support, but then had gotten on some tangent about unknown structures beneath the ice and went on about how they could be atlanteans or pirates or, heaven forbid, aliens…

It had been going so well. The job went off without a hitch, as soon as Face had managed to score thirty feet of heavy rope, some SOLAS flares, and a crate of bananas. Though, honestly, they probably could have done it without the rope. 

But the devil was in the details, and the Intel about how many hijackers there were was underestimated. Though, to be fair, no one thought the client’s son had actually been in on it from the beginning. He had masterminded his own kidnapping, and when Hannibal’s back was turned…

He could still remember the shout, the shot as it sang past his ear, the struggle, the splash as something (Murdock) hit ice cold water. Bosco had made short work of the kid, knocking him out with a smart rap to the back of the head and then plunging his arm into the rigid water to drag Murdock back aboard. 

Murdock had hit his head on the way into the water and was out cold. Bosco threw the kid into the makeshift cell on the ship with the other hijackers. Hannibal and Face brought Murdock down below decks and stripped him, covering him with every warm blanket they could find and laying him in the dingy cabin bed. Hannibal had felt a malicious pleasure when he had passed the hijackers cell-they were complaining about the cold. Too bad. They could freeze awhile.

When he got back from another sweep of the ship for blankets, he found Face stripping down and preparing to get into the bed with Murdock. He quickly followed suit- after all, Bosco had welded the hijackers into their cell-they weren’t going anywhere. 

And then they had been traveling back to the client, only to discover that the ship, which had been running perfectly, decided that it would sail not one more mile, and promptly shut the motor and electrical system off. Bosco had said something about the generators, but Hannibal had been too worried about the slowly dropping temperature and the vulnerable state of his pilot to really pay attention. 

“Just fix it. Hurry.”

That was ten minutes ago, and the cabin temperature was still dropping.

Hannibal sighed and began to run the younger man’s arms again, hoping the friction would help warm the cells beneath. Face had his lips pressed to the pilot’s ear, whispering nonsensical, calming things and kissing the cool forehead from time to time. 

“I swear to g-god that if Bosco doesn’t get this ship back up and running I’m gonna donate his v-van to the first chop shop I can find.” Face swore softly.

“He’ll get it running. Just concentrate on keeping Murdock warm.”

“He ISN’T warm, Hannibal. He’s f-freezing and he’s not moving, what if he has a concussion?” Face’s voice is still low and soft, but there’s an edge of worry.

“Murdock once fell two stories out of a burning chopper and walked off with a broken finger. He got into a bar fight with four marines, all bigger than he was, and came out with a black eye. After he sent two of theirs to the hospital. This is nothing. He’ll pull through this and tell us he saw Elvis under the ship.” A soft chuckle came from the other side as Face placed another light kiss on Murdock’s forehead.

Hannibal tucked himself closer to the pilot. In truth, he was feeling a little worried too, but he was keeping it at bay by thinking of all the things he’d do to that brat once he got back to the mainland, for the fake kidnapping, for shooting at him, for dumping his pilot overboard…

A low clanking, then a dull roar sounded through the ship. Face jumped (quite a bit, which masked Hannibal’s little jump quite nicely) and then the cabin began to warm up. 

“Thank you Bosco.” Hannibal murmured. Then a vibration began that had nothing to do with the ship. He clasped a hand on Murdock’s narrow hip.

Shivering. A good sign. 

“Stay close, he’s warming up.”

Face pressed tighter against Murdock, pressing him back into Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal kept running his hands across the now goosepimply flesh, willing as much of his heat into the young man as possible. He only hoped the sweet boy would wake up soon.

 

*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^

His head ached terribly, and there was a chill in his bones, but in spite of all this, he felt absurdly comfortable. A pleasant heat is all around him, and a scent floating above the acrid smell of mothballs and fuel that makes him want to go back to sleep. But there, there are fingers carding through his hair and others rubbing his hips and legs and chest and for the moment he’s relaxed, floating in a sea of warmth and comfort. 

A gentle murmur against his ear makes him twitch a bit and he tries to open his eyes to see the speaker, but he is still so tired…and the pressure around him is just so inviting.

“Just hand in there Murdock. We’ll be home in no time.”

That’s okay, he wants to tell them. I think I’m already here.


End file.
